


When In Winter, Hold Me

by bellam_w



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Caring Mickey, Cuddles, Depressed Ian, Descriptions of Depresssion, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, au-ish, seasonal depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:26:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellam_w/pseuds/bellam_w
Summary: Seasonal Depression: A mood disorder in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year exhibit depressive symptoms at the same time each year, most commonly in the winter.or, Ian has a particularly bad day and Mickey comes to hold him through it





	When In Winter, Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> ((This is based upon my own personal experiences with the condition))
> 
> In which no one understands Ian quite how Mickey does, even if Mickey doesn't realise he does.

If there was one thing that annoyed Ian more than his…issue, it was people trying to relate to him about it. He knew what it was, he knew that it was easier to just put up with it than struggle to scrape the money together for the drugs, especially in winter. Ian also knew that it was difficult for his family. They had to watch him change, learn how to cope with ‘Winter Ian’.

Ian had good days and bad days, though. Well, as good as a day can be when you’re depressed. Some days, he just felt shitty, took him longer to get him going than the rest of his siblings. On those days, he’d probably skip first and show up in time for second period, a little grouchy but it was high school, everyone was grouchy.

But some days were bad. Just like his good days, his bad days were never the same, either. Although, they followed a similar pattern. He woke up but couldn’t get out of bed, couldn’t muster the energy to crawl to the shower or curl up in one of the dining chairs and drink some coffee. He was always cold on his bad days, no matter what they did.

There was a day in the winter before, the 19th of December, Ian’s worst day of that season by far. Fiona had rallied around, waking Carl and Liam up before shaking Ian’s shoulder gently, the way she always did in winter. Ian didn’t wake up properly, just dozed in and out of asleep and awake. He was shivering, though, even with all of his covers and his long sleeve, long legged pyjamas with a hoodie over top. Lip had dragged his duvet through once he was out of bed, tucking it around Ian sympathetically. He never fully warmed up that day.

It looked like today was going to be Ian’s 19th of December. Fiona had come around the rooms, waking Carl and Liam quickly, scooping Liam onto her hip. “Ian? Come on, Ian”, she urged as she shook his shoulder carefully. Ian had just brushed her off, rolling onto his side to face away from her. “Bad day?”, she asked, running a hand over his hair.

Fiona watched him, waiting for a reply. In its absence, she put Liam down, telling him to go find Lip and get breakfast. She perched herself on the edge of Ian’s bed. “C’mon, Ian”, she sighed, “I know it’s hard, kid, but you need to come downstairs. You’ll feel better after some cereal and coffee”, the younger Gallagher could hear the optimism in her voice. Part of him wanted to laugh, a deep-down part yet to be infected by the cold darkness of winter, because why would coffee help?

She had sighed loudly in defeat, standing and going to leave the room. “Lip”, she’d murmured softly when she reached the eldest boy, “Can you go try?”, she asked quietly.

Upstairs, Lip had walked into Ian’s room carefully. “Bad day?”, Lip had asked, leaning against the cabinet by Ian’s bed. “It’s okay, buddy”, he’d assured. “Why don’t we get you into the shower? Or maybe go outside on the porch, have a smoke? Fresh air will do you a world of good”, Lip had said enthusiastically.

Lip, not unlike Fiona, got no reply. He stayed where he was, facing the wall, bundled up under his covers. Lip wanted to huff and puff exasperatedly, refraining from doing so because he didn’t want Ian to feel like a burden. It was something that had happened in the past and something that would happen again. But if they were cautious, they could hope to prevent it.

“I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, just shout”, Lip told him before turning to leave the room and go back downstairs to Fiona, who was currently scrunching the openings to the lunch bags.

“Any luck?”, She asked hopefully, lining the bags up neatly, ready to be collected. Lip sighed heavily, looking at Fiona sadly, before shaking his head. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something”, Fiona assured him, reaching out to rub her hand up and down his upper arm.

“Is Ian okay?”, Debs asked from the table once she’d put her half-finished glass of orange juice down. “Is it like last year?”, she pressed.

“Yeah, Debs”, Lip told her, resting a hand on her shoulder, “Just like that”.

By the time Carl and Debbie were served their breakfast, around 15 minutes later, there’d still been no noise from Ian. On his way back downstairs, Lip had popped his head around the door. Ian was still awake from what he could tell, his visible breathing too shallow for him to be awake.

“Why don’t you get Mickey?”, Debbie asked, shovelling the last spoon of cereal into her mouth. “He’s good at Ian stuff”, she commented, standing to give her bowl to Fiona.

“It’s Ian, Debs. We can handle Ian. Good idea, though”, she smiled softly, accepting the bowl.

Lip was in the middle of bundling up himself and Liam when Fiona’s phone chimed. “Oh, shit”, she cursed. “School’s shut today, for all of you”, she muttered. “Ice on the road’s stopping teachers getting in”, she huffed, setting her phone down on the island.

“Snow day!”, Carl had shouted, already ditching his bag to run outside. Fiona had wanted to admonish him, tell him to be wary of Ian and their neighbours who were probably off back to bed after that message.

“I’ll go try Ian again”, Lip assured, leaving Fiona with the mostly tidy kitchen and the kids that wanted to play in the excessive snow. “Hey”, Lip murmured to Ian, resting a hand on the covers on his shoulder. “Snow day today, Carl’s already out in it”, Lip whispered, a quiet laugh following. “Nothing?”, he asked Ian’s seemingly sleeping form.

It irritated Lip, as much as he hated to admit it, when Ian was like this. Because Ian didn’t respond, didn’t listen, didn’t sit up. He didn’t try. Lip wasn’t asking him to climb a fucking mountain, he was asking him to get out of bed, get a coffee and grab a shower.

But Lip didn’t understand that, to Ian, when he was having a bad day, sitting up and getting a shower and a coffee was like climbing a mountain. It felt like Ian was at the bottom and was expected to reach the summit within 20 minutes. It wasn’t that he didn’t try, because he did, it was that he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t.

Lip jogged back downstairs, tugging out his phone when he reached the kitchen. “Lip? It’s fuckin’ early, even I ain't that obsessed with getting high”, Mickey had grumbled into the phone.

“This isn’t about getting high, Mickey”, Lip said quietly, sadly.

“What the fuck’s he done now?”, he sighed heavily. Lip could already hear Mickey shuffling around from through the phone. He heard Mickey curse and huff and puff as he tried to get dressed because he knew Lip wouldn’t call about Ian this early if it wasn’t important. “I’ll be there soon. Explain this shit when I get there”, Mickey muttered, sounding breathless and worried.

Debs just gave Lip a look, causing her brother to roll his eyes fondly. Lip walked through into the living room, perching himself on the sofa, knowing Mickey wouldn’t be long. “Will Ian be okay?”, Debs asked quietly, coming to sit by Lip.

“Of course, Debs. Once he gets through today. Just like last year, he was real bad for a day or 2 and then he was a little better. He gets better once winter’s out, though”, Lip sighed, pulling Debbie against him for a quick hug.

At the knock on the door, Lip shouted for Mickey to come through. Mickey was unwrapping his scarf, nose still pink from the cold, when he asked, “So, what’s wrong with him?”.

“Seasonal problems”, Lip summarised, “He has bad days and we’ve tried to drag him back but he won’t move. Think you can help?”, He was almost begging, just wanting his brother to be back to normal. Well, back to being Ian.

“His room?”, Mickey asked, kicking his shoes off before wandering off upstairs in search of his boyfriend.

When Mickey walked into the room, he was surprised when Gallagher didn’t turn around to grin at him, considering he always did. Ian stayed facing the wall, covers screwed up around him. Mickey sighed quietly, walking over to Ian. “I’m gonna get in”, he whispered, before pulling the covers back and getting into the bed quickly, wanting to preserve the warmth. “Hey, Firecrotch”, he mumbled into Ian’s shoulder.

Mickey just laid behind Ian, not really holding him, but the arm over Ian’s waist let the redhead know that Mickey was there and he wasn’t leaving. “I ain't asking you to get up and go, Ian. Just want you to turn around so I can see that pretty face”, Mickey whispered, running his fingers gently over Ian’s stomach and sides.

“There you go”, Mickey smiled, “Thank you, baby”, he whispered, deciding that there was no time like the present to lay it on thick for Ian. “Need anything?”, Mickey muttered, reaching up to peck Ian’s forehead once he’d turned over.

He let them just lay there for a little. He’d slept next to Ian enough times to know when he was asleep or not. When Ian was still awake but had had his eyes shut against Mickey’s chest for 20 minutes, Mickey pulled out his phone. He, one-handed, worked his way to Lip’s contact.

**To: mouth gulluga**

**bring some water and some juice? painkillers too maybe**

Lip came into the room quietly, two bottles in his hand. “Juice and water”, Lip muttered to Mickey, putting the bottles on to the bedside table respectively. “And painkillers”, he handed the small, orange bottle to Mickey, smiling appreciatively before turning and leaving.

Mickey placed a hand on the back of Ian’s head, the other one shoving up under the pillow. He stroked the back of his head slightly, before dropping the hand down to hold the back of his neck reassuringly. “You want some juice?”, Mickey wasn’t fazed by the lack of reply. Instead, he kissed the top of Ian’s head, “Does anything hurt, baby?”, he muttered against the cold skin.

Ian shifted, head still pressed into Mickey’s chest for safety. “I don’t know”, he croaked quietly, barely. Mickey nodded, pulling Ian closer and sliding his hand back up to cradle Ian’s head. “Can I have the juice?”, Ian muttered quietly, breath warm on Mickey’s chest.

“Of course, baby. Let’s sit you up a bit so you don’t choke on it”, Mickey said lightly. Mickey sat up, leaning against the wall behind the headboard of Ian’s bed. He helped Ian to manoeuvre himself against Mickey’s chest. “There you go. Juice is here”, Mickey had already uncapped the juice, handing it carefully to Ian.

Once Ian had drunk the juice and had some of the painkillers for a headache, he tugged on Mickey’s shirt, urging him to lay back down. “I’ve got you, baby”, he mumbled into Ian’s hair, laying kisses on his hairline. “You up for talking?”, he asked.

“Not really”, Ian whispered, “Can you just hold me?”, and his voice was so quiet and so broken that it almost made Mickey cry. Because, no matter how hard he was, Ian would always be a weakness. No matter what.

“Of course, baby”, he assured. Mickey and Ian laid there, Ian’s face hidden in Mickey’s chest with the covers pulled up to his ears. Mickey kept a hand running through his hair, fingers pressing down on his scalp for a gentle massage.

“He still not up?”, Fiona asked worriedly from the door. Mickey turned to look at her, hiding the annoyance from his look. “If anyone could do it, I thought it’d be you”, she sighed.

“I don’t think it’s about the person”, Mickey muttered, only just loud enough for Fiona to hear.

“What do you mean?”, she asked him, walking into the room a little more.

“If he can’t get up, he can’t get up. Just because he’s letting me hold him doesn’t mean I’mma start dragging him outta bed. If he wants to stay here, we’ll stay here”, Mickey said defensively, keeping his hand running through Ian’s hair soothingly.

“I just hate seeing him like this”, Fiona sighed.

“I don’t think he likes it that much either”, Mickey said.

“You can go if you need or something. Me and Lip can handle this”, Fiona said dismissively. Mickey snapped his head around to face her, sending her a look.

“I ain’t leaving him. He’s staying with me”, he grumbled, eyes turning back to Ian.

Fiona didn’t argue after that, just turning to leave the two of them.

“Thank you”, Ian whispered, shifting his head up to press his face into Mickey’s warm neck. “They don’t get it, but they pretend like they do”, he said, voice thick and sad. “They don’t listen”.

“Tell me, baby. I’ll listen”, Mickey assured, squeezing Ian tighter against him.

“They don’t understand that I can’t get up, it’s not just that I can’t be bothered. I don’t have the energy to go sit and drink coffee downstairs. It’s taken me, like, 3 hours just to talk and drink some juice”, Ian muttered self-deprecatingly. “They never let me just be. Just lay in bed and wait out the bad day. I don’t choose it, Mick”, Ian’s voice cracked.

“Oh, baby”, Mickey shushed, kissing Ian’s forehead, “It’s okay, baby. I’m here, we can wait it out together”, he assured. Because no, Mickey wasn’t a magical cure. Ian wouldn’t suddenly be better with a quick kiss and some juice. But Mickey sure as hell wasn’t leaving him to face it alone.

“I love you, Mick”, Ian murmured sleepily.

“I love you, too, baby”.


End file.
